


Shadow passes, light remains

by ComplicatedLight



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: A lot of comfort, Episode: s04e04 Falling Darkness, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplicatedLight/pseuds/ComplicatedLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the darkest time in Laura's life, Robbie and James are there to comfort her . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just in time

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set immediately after Falling Darkness, and contains major spoilers for that episode. In particular, it contains brief descriptions of one of the violent acts from that episode.
> 
> The explicit rating is for later chapters, which are, indeed, very sexually explicit. The first few chapters are not.
> 
> There are probably going to be eight chapters, and I'll be posting approximately once a week, depending on the length of the chapters, phases of the moon, my reading of the tea leaves etc. etc. 
> 
> Thank you to the very gifted and kind Divingforstones, who has supported, encouraged, and guided me throughout the many months I've been trying to get this fic finished.

He’s hunched up in the back seat of Lewis’ Vectra, staring dead ahead at the back of Laura’s head. She’s quieter now, but still shaking; her pale hair trembling in the headlights of the passing cars. He’s shaking too; now Lewis is driving them to his place and he’s saying soothing things to Laura; now everyone’s safe. James turns away, looking out the window at the hedges and empty fields. _We almost didn’t find her in time._ The contents of his stomach rise dangerously, and he has to close his eyes and concentrate on each shallow breath until he can be sure he won’t throw up. When he opens his eyes, Lewis is watching him in the rear view mirror.

James had sat in that open grave, holding her and telling her over and over, “You’re fine. It’s OK, now. You’re fine.” Eventually she’d calmed enough to half climb, half be lifted out onto the muddy grass, but he hadn’t been able to get her up onto her feet. She’d just knelt there, at the side of the grave that Corwin had dug for her, tearing at the mud with her hands, clinging onto tufts of grass; still trying to save herself. In the end he’d had to pick her up and carry her away from the grave. He’d walked in slow circles, rocking her in his arms, trying to soothe her and calm her. Trying not to think about Lewis, alone somewhere in that fucking wreck of a hospital with the Corwins. 

Eventually, thank God, Lewis had materialised through the gloom, gently pushing Charlotte Corwin ahead of him. Gentle, even as he had caught sight of Laura, still terrified and sobbing, in James’ arms. James and Lewis had exchanged grim looks from a distance, as James had carefully turned to make sure Laura didn’t have to see the Corwin woman again. And then the gravel driveway had filled with lights and sirens and people running, and finally, it was over. Well; Laura and Lewis were safe, so it was over enough for now.

* * *

When they get to Lewis’ house, Laura goes straight upstairs to have a shower. She’s clearly still cold and shivery despite Lewis having cranked the heating up in the car as far as it would go. Her clothes are covered in mud and grass stains and her hair is dull with the soil Corwin had shovelled onto her. She’d barely said a word in the car, and Lewis had driven most of the way back to his house one-handed, his left hand resting on her knee. Lewis goes upstairs with her to sort out some towels and find something clean for her to wear. James, alone downstairs, paces from room to room. Finally he spots the pile of dirty dishes stacked up by the sink and makes a start on them.

When Lewis reappears he’s carrying Laura’s clothes. He puts them in the washing machine and stands looking at the machine. “I don’t know if she’s going to want to wear them again.” He picks up the washing powder and looks like he’s reading the back of the box. His hands are shaking. He puts the powder down again and shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s having a shower.” 

“OK.”

“She’ll feel better when she’s got that mud off her.” 

James can’t look at him. He scrubs at some dried-on food on a plate. Lewis comes to stand next to him.

“We got to her in time, James.”

“Yes.” James leans against the sink. “In one way.” 

“In the most important way.”

“I know.”

Lewis nods. “She’ll need a bit of looking after for a while.” He catches James’ eye. “From both of us.”

“Of course. Just tell me what to do.”

Lewis sighs and he sounds weary to his bones. “I’m not sure I know.” 

They hear Laura’s footsteps on the stairs and she appears in the doorway of the kitchen in a rolled up pair of Lewis’ old pyjama bottoms, a t-shirt that fits her like a dress, and an enormous jumper that looks like it could hold two of her. Lewis smiles and puts his arm round her. “Come on, lass. Let’s get you settled on the sofa. James, are you OK making some tea?”

When James walks into the lounge with the tea and the bottle of Irish whiskey that Lewis keeps in to see them through bad cases, Lewis is sitting at one end of the sofa, with Laura curled up in his lap, her eyes tight shut. He’s got his arm round her, and he’s stroking her hair, whispering to her. They look right together and James wonders if this is the first time they’ve cuddled like this. He doesn’t want to intrude.

“I’ll just put the tray here.” He folds himself down onto his knees and carefully puts the tray on the coffee table in front of them. Robbie squeezes Laura’s shoulder, and she opens her eyes. “Do you want a nip of whiskey in your tea, Pet?”

She looks at the bottle James is holding, then looks up at him. She manages a faint smile, and he hates himself. How could he ever have doubted her? _Fucking idiot._

“Good idea, James.” Her face is pale, and streaked with tears, but she’s still trying to smile. How is he ever going to live with himself? 

“James.” Lewis pulls him back to the task in hand. He sloshes a good measure of whiskey into each mug and hands them over. She closes her eyes when she takes the first sip, and leans her head back against Lewis’ shoulder. It’s a trivial thing James has given her, but it’s something. 

“Sit down, James. Drink your tea.” Lewis nods towards the other side of Laura, so he sits. Left to his own devices he would have left them to it, but he defers to Lewis’ judgement of the situation; God knows it’s going to be a long time before he trusts his own judgement again. As he sits, Laura glances at him, then tucks her feet under his thigh. It’s more than he deserves.

They sit quietly and drink their tea. Eventually, Lewis kisses the side of Laura’s head. “You OK if James looks after you while I sort a few things out upstairs?” 

She nods, and Lewis stands up and takes their mugs off them. James can’t imagine he makes much of a substitute for Lewis, but Laura crawls into his lap without hesitation, as if she thinks he might be able to comfort her. As if she doesn’t hate him. 

He wraps his arms round her and pulls her tight in against his chest. She’s so quiet, he only realises she’s crying when she shifts to get a tissue from her pocket. She blows her nose and sniffs a couple of times. She inspects the front of his shirt.

“Sorry. I’ve got snot on you.” 

_Sorry I didn’t believe you and almost got you killed._

He rubs his mouth against the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s OK.”

“Is it?”

“It is now. Everything’s OK now, Laura.”

“I thought they were going to . . .” It’s just a whisper. She shakes her head like she's trying to clear the picture from her mind. 

“I know. I’m so sorry.” His throat closes round the words. “So sorry. I’ll never forgive . . .”

She shakes her head again. “Not tonight, James. I can’t. No more feelings tonight.” 

“Sorry.” Bloody self-indulgent of him. 

He expects her to move away from him, to go and find Lewis, but to his surprise she looks for a dry section of shirt to lean against and snuggles back into his chest. By the time Lewis comes back in, James is gently rocking her in his arms and murmuring scraps of poems and quotes from books to her. Anything that’s soothing and gentle and safe. Lewis smiles properly for the first time in what seems like weeks. They have a silent conversation over Laura’s head—James indicating that Lewis should take over again, and Lewis shaking his head. “I’ve just put clean sheets on the bed. Time for some sleep, I think.”

Lewis is right, of course; Laura must be exhausted. It seems right that the two of them are going to share Lewis’ bed. He can imagine that she’ll feel safe there. He should leave them to it. “I’ll call a taxi.”

Lewis frowns and scratches the back of his head. “No. None of us are going to sleep on our own tonight. I’ve got a big bed.”

James stares at Lewis, stunned. Laura doesn’t react at all, beyond looking back and forth between Lewis and James for a moment and then nodding, which in itself is a sign of how in shock she must be.

“Sir, I’m fine, really. I’ll call a cab.” He gets his phone out, but Lewis sighs and raises his voice a bit. 

“James, for once in your life, do as you’re bloody told, will you? I just need to know you’re both safe.” He sounds exasperated, but there’s a tremor in his voice. It feels utterly surreal, but James finds himself shrugging and nodding.

* * *

It turns out that Laura’s been given the best spare pyjamas and the only spare toothbrush. James showers after Lewis is done with the bathroom and cleans his teeth as best he can with his finger and some toothpaste. He puts on the faded, too short stripy bottoms and the t-shirt Lewis has left out for him. They’re both old and worn and the t-shirt has a seam coming apart, but they feel soft against his skin and the scent of fabric conditioner is a lot better than the smell of damp, dark soil that’s been hanging around him all evening. 

By the time he goes into the bedroom, Lewis and Laura are already in bed. She’s in the middle and Lewis is lying on the far side of her, snuggled up behind her. They’re both lying on their sides, facing the gap they’ve left for James. He can’t see but he imagines Lewis has got his arm draped round her, and he’s glad; glad that Lewis is comfortable enough to find a way to comfort her, even in such an strange situation.

The room’s lit by a single bedside lamp, which is putting out a soft, golden pool of light. The rest of the room is in shadow. Laura has her eyes shut, but Lewis looks at him and nods towards the bed, so James turns the lamp off and carefully slides in under the duvet, trying to avoid bumping into Laura. He turns onto his side, away from them both. He’s very close to the edge of the bed, and if he were to fall asleep, he’d be in real danger of falling out. But given the amount of adrenaline racing through his system, and the extraordinary situation he now finds himself in—lying in his inspector’s bed, next to their pathologist—the chances of him settling enough to fall asleep seem pretty slim. It’s not like he has an easy relationship with sleep at the best of times. The warmth is nice though, and the feel of the pillowcase against his cheek. And if he holds his breath he can hear Laura and Lewis breathing, which is extraordinarily soothing. So if what he gets is a night awake, but safe and warm, lying in the dark listening to the evidence that Lewis and Laura are alive and also safe, well, he’s not going to complain.

* * *

He wakes sometime in the middle of the night, hurled out of sleep by a dream of endless road blocks and dead ends and every other imaginable impediment to them getting to Laura in time. He’s disorientated and his heart’s hammering, and it takes a few seconds to remember where he is—and who he’s with. There’s been a bit of movement while they’ve been asleep. He’s not sure if he’s moved back or they’ve moved forward, but Laura is now pressed tight against his back; he can feel her breath come and go against the back of his neck. And Lewis; Lewis seems to have stretched his arm out, so now it’s resting across James’ waist; his hand, heavy and warm, splayed over James’ ribs.

James should feel mortified; and he does lie awake for a few minutes, eyes wide open, staring into the dark, trying to decide what he should do. Sleep claims him again before he can make up his mind.


	2. This has to stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cock-up on the counting front - it turns out I've got more chapters than I thought! So, I'm posting two fairly short ones today - there's nothing explicit in either.

Two weeks later, they’re in the pub. The silence is starting to get uncomfortable, but Laura’s determined to wait until Robbie comes back from the bar with the drinks. James is studiously looking at something on his phone, and hunched over the screen like he is, there’s a distinct air of the penitent about him. 

Robbie puts the drinks down on the table and sits next to her. He glances over at James, and back to her, and raises an eyebrow. She takes a fortifying mouthful of cabernet sauvignon and then nudges James under the table with her foot. He looks up from his phone, startled.

“James. This has to stop.”

“What?” Even as he speaks, he’s schooling his face into a handsome blank. 

“This—” She waves her hand towards him, trying to find the right phrase, “this endless self-flagellation.”

He opens his mouth, clearly intending to object, but she cuts him off. “Don’t even think about denying it. I know you; you’ve spent the last two weeks convincing yourself that it’s your fault, and your fault alone, that I ended up in that grave.” She draws to a halt for a moment, as she hears the words come out of her mouth. When she starts again her voice is quieter but no less emphatic. “And I know you’re racked with guilt for doubting me during the investigation.” He has the good sense not to deny it. “Well, if I can move on from it, so can you.”

He looks miserable and his gaze slides away from her, but she’s not going to let him off the hook that easily. “If you won’t do it for yourself, James, do it for me. It’s not helping.”

Robbie doesn’t say a word. Well, it won’t do him any harm to hear this either. He’s not in as bad a state as James, of course, but still, she knows he feels bad, and she’s had enough of it. Yes, she’d been pissed off with them during the investigation, although even then, there were moments when she could acknowledge to herself that, given the circumstances, they’d had to turn their professional attention towards her. And of course, it had really hurt that they’d doubted her. Actually, it had been deeply troubling; shocking even. Shocking that they might, even for a moment, entertain such awful thoughts about her, and shocking to feel just how much their respect and admiration matters to her.

But God knows everyone has errors of judgement sometimes; even clever sods like James Hathaway; even wise old friends like Robbie Lewis. And the bottom line is that she doesn’t want bad feelings hanging around between them; life’s too short, as all three of them are vividly aware. So she’s made a conscious decision to let it go. She has another swig of wine. “I don’t mean you’re not helping at all; far from it. These last two weeks have been, well—you’ve both looked after me very well. You know you have.” 

They really have. Together and separately, they’ve done a thousand kind things to try and help her feel better. They’ve popped in to say hello at work at least once a day ( _We were just passing, honest!_ ) James has rooted out books and CDs he thinks she might find diverting, and he’s cooked a good, comforting meal pretty much every evening. Robbie’s managed to keep nosy well wishers at bay, and he’s hugged her and soothed her, and has been the exact combination of solid reassurance and jokiness she’s needed. 

But despite all this care, she knows that really what’s helped more than anything else is the three of them sleeping together every night. They haven’t talked about it at all, which both astonishes and amuses her. It’s the most extreme example she’s ever experienced of Robbie and James’ aversion to talking about personal things. Actually, she’s grateful she hasn’t had to talk about it; that she hasn’t had to ask for the arrangement to carry on. Because she’s fairly certain she wouldn’t have been able to ask, despite how much she’s needed them either side of her through each dark night. She sighs, just imagining how tough she would have had to be, how much armour she would have had to put on, to get through the last few weeks on her own. Robbie pats her arm, reassuringly, and they both look over at James’ bowed head. 

Nothing untoward has happened during those nights, not unless you count three colleagues snuggling up together in their sleep as untoward. But Robbie and James have held her and cuddled her; one each side of her like a pair of big, warm bookends. It’s so strange that the worst night of her life has been followed by some of the best; it’s completely unexpected, and completely lovely. She can’t imagine what James, in particular, thinks about it all; that to all intents and purposes, she and James are currently living with Robbie; the three of them sharing meals, and housework, and a bed. Regardless of whatever turbulent set of thoughts James has about the situation—and she’s got no doubt that he’s finding it unsettling to say the least—even so, she’s pretty certain it’s doing him almost as much good as it is her.

She taps her foot against James’ again. “I really don’t mean everything about the last couple of weeks has been unhelpful. Far from it. It’s just . . . this constant misery and wishing it’d been you instead of me.” His head shoots up. _Got him_. She smiles and makes herself sound less fierce. “It has to stop, James. Understood?”

He nods and has a go at smiling back. It’s not the most convincing of smiles, but it’s a start. “OK.”

“Good.” She grins at him. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop enjoying all the guilt-fuelled cooking and baking, by the way. You can carry on with that for a bit longer.”

A bit more of a smile appears, and he gives her a little salute. “Understood.”

Robbie chuckles and raises his glass to both of them. “Thank God for that. I’ve eaten better over the last couple of weeks than I have in years. I don’t fancy going back to frozen lasagne just yet.”

“Good. So, on that note: what are you going to cook us tonight? I quite fancy the mushroom stroganoff you did last week.” 

Robbie pulls a face. “I was hoping for a nice bit of steak. We ate vegetarian last night. At least can we have beef stroganoff?”

“Robbie! We ate our own weight in roast lamb over the weekend. Surely that’s enough red meat for one week?”

“That was days ago, man! A bit of beef in the stroganoff won’t do us any harm!”

James clears his throat. “If you two don’t stop squabbling, I won’t cook anything, and you’ll have frozen lasagne and like it.” 

It’s obvious he’s struggling not to laugh, and it’s a complete delight to see—and a relief, if she’s honest. She knows generally Robbie’s pretty good at steering James safely through most work troubles, but this is different; it’s personal. And anyway, Robbie’s got his own difficult feelings to deal with about what happened—not that he’d ever let on. James rolls his eyes and she grins at him. “Sorry, Chef.”


	3. Dinner and mischief

Over Saturday breakfast a week later, Laura insists she needs to go home, at least for a few hours. There'll be post to pick up, and she's got errands to run, but more than anything, Robbie knows that she hates feeling so dependent on anyone, even him and James. He suspects she wouldn’t have tolerated showing anything like this kind of vulnerability to anyone else. In fact, he’d heard on the station grapevine that Alan Peterson had offered to stand guard at her house, the first few days after the Corwin nightmare, apparently making a big deal about women sometimes needing knights in shining armour. Robbie has to admit to himself that Peterson meant well, but he’s also admitted to himself just how childishly pleased it’s made him to hear about Peterson’s ham-fisted approach. He can’t think of anything more guaranteed to piss Laura off than to try and cast her in the role of damsel in distress—even though she did need rescuing on that bloody awful night. And just that thought is enough to trigger a spike of fear through his guts, as yet again, he revisits the moment when he realised the Corwins had got her, and that he and James might not reach her in time.

He shakes himself—no point dwelling on it. The truth is that he and James are a good team, and they _had_ found her in time. And she has needed a bit of looking after over the last few weeks, but that doesn’t mean she’s weak, and it hasn’t got anything to do with her being a woman. She’s just human; a friend who’s been in a terrifying situation, and he and James just want to make sure she’s OK. They’ve turned out to be a pretty good team for that, too.

The arrangement the three of them have made is that they’ll all go their different ways this morning, but James will do some food shopping at some point, and they’ll meet back at Robbie’s and cook dinner together this evening.

He knows logically that Laura’s safe now, but he’s still finding it difficult not to phone just to check; to hear her voice. But he knows she won’t thank him for it, so he puts his phone back in his pocket and starts stripping the bed so they can have nice clean sheets tonight. It’s odd how easily he’s taken them—both of them—into his bed. His mind supplies lurid tabloid headlines: ‘Three-in-a-bed police sex romp.’ But it isn’t a sex romp, is it? Somehow ‘police cuddle romp’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. He finishes making the bed, enjoying the domesticity of it; the dull task becoming more of a labour of love when it’s for other people’s comfort. 

Just as he’s finishing, a text arrives. 

_Just checked in with L on the pretext of asking about wine preferences.  
All’s well. See you later. J._

Robbie smiles. _Good man._

* * *

He’s delighted that Laura seems to be on good form when she arrives on Saturday evening. She’s got a lot of her usual sparkle back, and it's really good to see her like this. He and James are in the kitchen, making the dinner—linguini with crab and chilli, so Laura pulls up a chair and joins them. James had turned up at six, not only with the ingredients for their meal, but also with a bottle of Hendricks gin, some posh tonic water, and a lime, and has just furnished the three of them with stiff G and Ts while they natter and cook.

Robbie picks up the gin bottle. It’s lovely stuff, but it’s got to have set James back the best part of thirty quid. Posh git. Definitely asking for some piss taking. He scans the label on the back of the bottle. 

“Well, thank God it’s distilled with yarrow and cubeb berry! You know me. I won’t touch a drink unless there’s a cubeb berry or two involved.”

James turns to him, his expression all mock apology and regret. “I know it’s a little on the sophisticated side; I do apologise. I did look for a bottle of Blue Nun for you, but Waitrose said they haven’t stocked it since 1975. I can’t think why.” 

Cheeky bloody sod! And Laura’s no better, sitting there, cheering James on from the sidelines. Of course, really, it’s just nice to see them both having a bit of fun again.

This little exchange sets the tone for the whole evening; boozy, snarky, and far more enjoyable than any of them might have thought possible just a few weeks after that God-awful night. Dinner is tasty and the conversation’s light-hearted, and Laura and James actually look happy, properly happy; not just the ‘putting on a brave face’ forced cheeriness they’ve all resorted to at times, recently. 

After the meal, they linger over a second bottle of wine and then James and Laura do the dishes while Robbie tidies up a bit round the kitchen. Well, if challenged, that’s what he’ll claim he’s doing, but mostly he’s just enjoying the sight of Laura and James, his two favourite people in the world—kids excepted—safe and relaxed and having fun. And they are having fun. There’s a lot of giggling going on, and a lot of piss taking. Mostly directed at him, of course. The two of them appear to have wordlessly come to an agreement to gang up on him. They get onto the topic of cooking and memorable meals, and James starts regaling Laura with tales of dinners he’s suffered, chez-Lewis. The ingratitude! His cooking’s not that bad. _Right._

“Less of that, you. You’re still me sergeant, you know. I never spoke to Morse like that.” 

Laura snorts loudly. James, to his credit, at least attempts to look abashed, though Robbie’s doubtful about how accurate a portrayal of his actual feelings that is. But Laura isn’t having any of it. She points a finger at Robbie, sloshing her wine as she does.

“Robbie Lewis! First of all, you were _very_ cheeky to Morse! Just as much as James is to you—and far less erudite about it, as I recall. And second of all,”—she looks distinctly mischievous as she goes on, “is it really good form to pull rank on someone you sleep with on a regular basis?!”

God, Laura loves stirring it. It’s not like _that_ , and she knows it. But James is choking on his Sauvignon Blanc and giggling, and by the time they sort him out with firm slaps on the back, the moment’s passed to tell her off. Not that he knows what he’d say. And it doesn’t seem to have bothered James. Quite the contrary; him and Laura are now leaning against each other, looking at him; both smirking. Laura sticks her tongue out at him, so he growls at them—which they both seem to love. It appears he’s been cast in the role of grouchy old bear or maybe grumpy alpha wolf, trying to keep his pack in order. Well, that suits him just fine—he’ll give them grumpy.

“Right, you two. Stop mucking about. It’s bed time.”

Laura sits up straight and salutes him. “Yes, _sir_. Right away, _sir_.”

James mock-frowns at her. “Oi, that’s my line, Doctor.”

Then he turns to Robbie, and the smirk’s back. “Are you ordering us to bed, sir?” 

Laura doesn’t say anything, but looks directly at Robbie, raising an eyebrow at him in silent challenge.

Well, if that’s the way they want to play it. He gets to his feet and puts a bit of DI into his voice. “Yes I bloody well am. Go on; you’ve got five minutes to get your teeth brushed and yourselves in that bed, or else there’ll be trouble.”

They look at each other and whoop with delight, shoving and pushing each other towards the bathroom. _Daft buggers_. He watches them go, then turns the lights out and checks that the front door’s locked, before following them.

* * *

They get into bed in their usual configuration; Robbie and James either side of Laura; Laura snuggled into James’ back and Robbie behind her, his arm wrapped round her waist, his hand squashed between her stomach and James’ back. 

With all the mucking about and mock flirting this evening, it takes Robbie a while to settle enough to feel like he might be able to sleep. It’s not that he hasn’t considered the sexual possibilities before—you can’t wake up with Laura tucked up against you, breasts pressing against your chest; or your hand on your sergeant’s bare stomach, it having mysteriously found its way under his t-shirt sometime during the night, without acknowledging to yourself that of course there’s a potential sexual side to all this. But they’ve never alluded to it between them before, and even the jokey, half-acknowledgement this evening has unsettled him. He wonders if Laura and James are still awake; whether they too have been stirred up by the mischief in the air. He lies quietly for a while, listening for clues in their breathing, but eventually he does sleep, lulled by the warmth and familiarity of their nearness.


	4. Half a matching pair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well today we begin the move to the more explicit part of the proceedings. All I'm going to say is that the working title for the next couple of chapters was _Lucky Laura._ You'll see.

Robbie wakes in the early hours, and something feels different: good different. It takes him a couple of seconds to make sense of the sensations he’s experiencing, but then everything sort of comes into focus. He’s in bed with Laura and James, of course. It’s starting to get light. And he’s hard—which has not been a particularly frequent experience over the last few years. Not only that; his _hardness_ is pressing against something. Someone. _Hell._ Laura. God, it feels good—but not acceptable; definitely not part of their unspoken understanding, despite whatever flirting went on last night after a few drinks. He starts to ease backwards, moving gently so as not to wake her.

“I was rather enjoying that.” She’s awake. _Christ._

“Laura?”

“Who else did you think it might be?” Her voice—a slightly muffled whisper—is amused. She’s turned away from him, and now, as he opens his eyes, he can see that her face is pressed into James’ chest—so he’s been prodding her backside with his erection. And they’re all three of them squashed so closely together that James’ face is less than a foot away from his, on the other side of Laura’s pillow. 

He glances down at the back of Laura’s head, his own face red hot with embarrassment. Despite that embarrassment, he can’t seem to make his erection subside, which is a problem he hasn’t had for a long while—but he is managing to keep it away from Laura.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I woke up and . . .” What the hell is he meant to say?

“I said I was enjoying it, Robbie. I meant it. Half a matching pair.”

There’s a yawn from the other side of Laura. “What’s matching . . . ?” 

_Oh great._ That’s James; half awake and trying to make sense of what they’re whispering about. And no doubt about to add significantly to Robbie’s mortification, as soon as he works it out. But Robbie doesn’t get beyond that thought before James groans:

“Oh shit. Laura, I’m so sorry,” and starts scrabbling backwards. _Ah._ _That_ kind of matching pair. 

“Gentlemen.” Laura’s voice is mischief and heat. “Of course, you should do what you feel is right, but can I just make one thing clear? The last half hour, in which I have lain awake with both of your erections pressed against me, has been the most enjoyable thirty minutes I’ve experienced in several years. If this was just down to me, you’d both move back to where you were, and . . . we’d see . . .” She leaves the possibilities hanging in the early morning air.

 _Christ_. Neither he nor James say a word. Or move. Robbie wants to though; he really does want to close the gap between him and Laura again; press hard against her. But suddenly, disconcertingly, he’s clear that it has to be all three of them together, somehow, or not at all. It’s an outrageous thought. He hasn’t even had sex since Val died—he’s not even sure he can, anymore, for God’s sake. Yet here he is, apparently all ready for a threesome. _Bloody hell._

But really, how could it be any other way? Not now; not after that awful night; not after the last few weeks. They’ve seen each other in the worst states—scared and ashamed, and getting things so wrong at times, it’s painful to even think about. And yet even at the worst times, it has never occurred to him that he wanted to be anywhere other than with Laura and James. And even the worst times have been made bearable by crawling into his bed and wrapping his arms round the pair of them. The thought of ever being intimate with anyone else, anyone new, seems impossible now. And the thought of being intimate with just one of them, with just Laura or just James, come to that . . . it’s unimaginable. How could he ever turn towards one if it meant turning away from the other? Not now.

Doesn’t mean he’s got a sodding clue what to do about it, though. Or what the hell the ever-inscrutable James might be making of Laura’s suggestion. Actually, not quite inscrutable, right now—James has got his eyes tight shut and he’s frowning. 

Robbie knows James has been benefitting as much as he has from their new sleeping arrangements: you just have to look at him to see how much more rested he looks. It’s more than that, though; he looks less hollowed out, somehow; as if all the physical affection, night after night, has been nourishing him, filling up all the empty places in him. And more than once, Robbie’s woken in the night and seen the blissed-out expression on James’ face, as he’s slept, with Laura in his arms. It’s one of the many things that’s had Robbie thinking about how little he wants this arrangement, whatever it is, to end.

Of course sex is a different thing. But Robbie’s instincts are telling him that James would want this too, that he needs this too—if only he can let himself.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“You heard Laura. Thoughts?” There’s a pause.

“Several.”

Sometimes it really is like pulling teeth. “Care to share any?”

James’ frown deepens, but he doesn’t open his eyes and he doesn’t elaborate. _No bloody help at all._

Laura nudges Robbie. “Perhaps, as the senior officer, you might set James an example?” 

Well, he couldn’t get a clearer invitation than that, could he? So he eases forward, pressing the length of his erection against the cleft of her buttocks, feeling the warmth, the softness of her bottom through the thin cotton of her pyjamas. She releases a little sigh and wriggles back against him, which is, _oh God_ , very good. He closes his eyes for a moment, focussing on the sensations. When he opens them again, James is looking directly at him over the top of Laura’s head, doing a pretty good startled-rabbit-in-the-headlights impression. 

Robbie looks right back at him. Surely his expression must show how good this feels; how much he thinks James should join them. Robbie smiles, silently encouraging James, urging him on, but James looks stuck. Robbie’s seen that expression on him so many times before: one foot on the brake, one foot on the accelerator. It would be so easy to tell him what to do, but it has to be James’ choice; no pressure from him or Laura.

Four seconds, five seconds pass, where all Robbie can hear is his heart hammering inside his chest. Then finally—without taking his eyes off Robbie for a moment—James moves forward a touch, groaning softly as he clearly remakes contact with Laura. He must be pressed against her belly. _Christ._ It’s odd that however lovely it is to be pushing against Laura himself—to be able to feel her against his erection; the knowledge that James is also hard and is also pushing against her soft body, just a few inches away from him . . . that’s—well that’s doing very odd things to him. Before he knows what he’s up to, Robbie puts his arm round both of them and pulls James in even closer, startling a high _oh_ out of Laura, who is now trapped between them, and presumably feeling rather impaled.

“You OK, there?”

She chuckles. “Yes. I’m . . . good.” She does sound pretty content, as far as he can tell, though her face is now tightly pressed against James’ t-shirt-clad chest, so she is a bit muffled. 

“I would like to be kissed, though.” Well, he heard _that_ clearly enough.

“Who do you want . . .?”

“Both of you. Each of you, I mean.”

James’ eyes are wide open, watching him. Robbie nods at him again, encouraging him. James bends his head down and Robbie thinks he’s going to kiss Laura—and he does, but just once, on her forehead, then he gently turns her towards Robbie.

She smiles up at him, looking so lovely, and so—the only word he can come up with is— _naughty_ ; very kissable. So he leans down and presses his lips against hers. _Yes_. He’s thought about doing this for years; should have bloody well got on with it, because this is lovely. He wraps his arms round her and pulls her up so their faces are level, and he kisses her again. She hums and opens to him a little, so he slides his tongue into her mouth and then he’s lost. Lost in the kiss, lost in her responsiveness; lost in the drag of her fingernails on the back of his neck. 

They roll over so that Laura’s on her back, and Robbie’s on top of her—which means that one side of him is suddenly pressed right against James. Just for a moment, in the heat of the kiss, he’d actually forgotten James was there! How could he forget that James is in his bed, semi-naked, and—according to a reliable witness—hard?! ‘Three-in-a-bed police sex romp’ all right. Suddenly he’s a bit at sea.

Laura strokes his back. “Problem, Robbie?”

“No. I . . . It’s all just a bit new.” He rolls off her, back onto his side of the bed.

“Ah. Not an extensive history of threesomes then?” She sounds amused, but he knows she’s not mocking him. She finds his hand and takes hold of it, stroking his palm with her thumb. It’s soothing.

“Not in the last month or two, no.”

“Well, I think the defining feature of threesomes is that they’re meant to involve three people. You’re the brains, James—have I got that right?”

“Perfectly, Doctor.”

“For heaven’s sake, James—call me Laura! I don’t think any of us need reminding of my professional association with naked bodies right now, do we?”

“Apologies, Laura.” Robbie can practically hear the smirk on James’ face. He risks a glance at him, and yes, he’s propped up on one elbow, gazing down at Laura, a big grin on his face. She’s looking back up at him, obviously happy with the situation. He feels himself relax.

“Good. So . . ?” Laura’s talking to James, but she’s still holding Robbie’s hand.

James lowers himself till his face is just a couple of inches above Laura’s. “So. Would you like me to kiss you?”

She smiles: the cat who’s about to get the cream. “Yes.”

Then James’ voice seems to drop an octave. “Would you like more than kissing from us?” On the _us_ , he looks at Robbie; locks eyes with him. 

She doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes I bloody would! If I can’t get an orgasm with the two of you in the bed, it’s a pretty poor show!”

Robbie feels a spike of arousal pulse through his belly, his groin. Still holding Robbie’s gaze, James tilts his head questioningly; silently asking him: _Are we going to do this?_ Well, maybe it does all feels a bit strange, and maybe he is still a bit at sea, but he really wants to make Laura come, to find out what would feel good for her. And his mind keeps edging towards the fact that it wouldn’t just be him and Laura; it’d be James too, and he has no idea really how that’d work . . . but apparently he really wants to find out. And anyway, who better to be at sea with, than James and Laura? 

So, in the end, it’s easy to nod to James, who nods back and smiles at him for a moment, with such unguarded affection, that Robbie can feel butterflies or something else delicate and winged, flutter in his chest. Then James closes his eyes as he bends to kiss Laura on her cheek and then her mouth. And all the time James is kissing Laura, rubbing his lips against hers, sliding his tongue into her mouth, lying on top of her and rocking himself against her; all that time Laura holds Robbie’s hand, squeezing it harder and harder as she gets more and more aroused. Robbie’s world narrows to the sight of their mouths on each other, and the squeeze of Laura’s hand; and to the blood pulsing into his cock again. 

James moves to kiss Laura’s neck, and she pushes him off her just long enough to peel off her t-shirt. James squeezes and strokes her breasts and then takes one of her nipples into his mouth and sucks, and Robbie is utterly mesmerised. God, how beautiful they are together; James’ blond head bent over her lovely breasts; Laura, eyes closed, head tilted back, lost in pleasure.

“Sir, could you help me out here?” He’s pulled out of his reverie by James, who seems to be suggesting that he kisses Laura’s other breast. Though James himself isn’t showing any signs of relinquishing the one he’s working on.

“Both at once?!” Is that what Laura meant?! He looks at her. _Bloody hell._ She’s grinning at him like it’s Christmas bloody morning and she’s just seen her present. Well, he can’t disappoint her now, can he?

So he leans down and licks the nipple nearest him, and then sucks. God, it feels good. He feels James settle again at her other breast and then Laura groans—and he can actually feel it in his cock. She slides her hand round the back of his head and pulls him in tight against her, his face buried in her soft flesh, his mouth full of breast. It feels so good, he could actually cry. He never really believed he’d have anything like this again.

They stay like that for several blissful minutes; Inspector and Sergeant side-by-side at Laura’s breasts; their heads brushing against each other as they give her pleasure; the only sounds, the suckling noises they’re making, and Laura’s moans.

Eventually, he feels her hand loosen where it’s been holding him to her breast. 

“I think I’m going to faint if you carry on much longer!” 

Robbie stops immediately. Laura’s flushed and breathing heavily. 

“You need to catch your breath, Pet?”

She opens her mouth to answer but then her eyes shut tight and she’s groaning again. He glances down to see that James has also stopped sucking her breast—and instead has kissed his way down her stomach and is now running his tongue under the waistband of her pyjamas. No wonder she groaned. 

As Robbie watches, James looks up at her.

“May I?”

She nods, apparently having lost the power of speech. Well, if anything might temporarily render Laura speechless, he supposes the knowledge that James is apparently about to give her oral sex would do it.


	5. Her bookends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have just two things to say:
> 
> 1\. It's very explicit
> 
> 2\. Lucky Laura

Laura forces herself to breathe. God, James is actually going to go down on her! She’s often imagined being with them sexually—the two of them—over the last couple of years; it’s pretty much become her go-to fantasy. Impossible to be around them really, to observe the intimacy of their relationship, the caring and the sniping and the sheer bloody lack of personal space between them, without wondering. Not wondering if they’ve ever been sexually intimate with each other; if she were a gambling woman she’d put good money on the likelihood that such a possibility has never occurred to them; that they’d be utterly unaware and unable to articulate the nature of the charge between them. Well, good money that none of this has ever occurred to Robbie. James, she’s not so sure about. He does _a lot_ of thinking—probably most things have occurred to him at some point. What she would gamble on is that whatever _has_ occurred to James, whatever he might want, even, he would never have done anything or said anything to Robbie about it.

She’s spent many a wine-fuelled evening wondering about what it’d be like being held by them; both of them. Always _them_ ; together; a pair. Impossible to fantasise about being with one without the other showing up and joining in. And over the last week, she’s taken it as a sign that she’s on the mend, because she’s been having the wildest dreams. Not surprising really; for God’s sake, she wakes up every morning tangled up with the two of them, caught between them as they’ve apparently been reaching for each other in the night. Of course she’s been having bloody dreams!

But those fantasies and dreams, lovely though they’ve been, have focussed on Robbie and James together in some way, with her being caught between them, crushed between their bodies, gloriously trapped between them while they kiss each other and stroke each other. Perhaps surprisingly, what she’s never actually given any thought to is what might happen if their attention was focussed on her. She’s in unchartered waters; and reality is already far, far better than anything her imagination has ever been able to conjure up.

James starts pulling her pyjama bottoms down so she lifts her hips to help. He settles her on her back and then slides his hands between her thighs and gently pushes them apart. He clearly wants to lie down between her legs, but he’s so tall that the lower half of his legs and his feet are hanging awkwardly off the end of the bed. She’s about to suggest trying another position when she feels Robbie’s arms slide round her, and she’s pulled back up the bed, so that she’s half sitting, half lying back against Robbie’s chest, and there’s room for James to position himself where he wants to be.

She watches, spellbound, as he kisses her pubic hair and the inside of her thighs. The look of utter concentration on his face is very endearing, and very sexy. Then he presses his nose and mouth against her. She can feel his warm breath, then, _Oh God!_ , she feels his tongue flutter around her clitoris, a barely-there circling that pulls a cry out of her and has her reaching for his head to try and crush his face hard against her. His response is to shift tactic, washing soft sweeps of his tongue slowly up and down the length of her vulva, investigating her responses, gathering information about what elicits a reaction from her. Bloody detective! And all this time, she’s held fast in Robbie’s arms; one of his hands gently squeezing and stroking her breasts. She’s the luckiest woman in the world. 

Then James makes his tongue a firm point and pushes it into her and sort of wiggles it around. It’s barely inside her and it tickles more than stimulates, but God, it makes it clear what she really needs. 

“Robbie!” Her voice comes out a high, pleading, whisper. “I need . . . please, I really need . . .”

“Laura, love. What do you need? Anything, Pet.”

“Inside me. I need something . . . fingers. Your fingers . . .”

“You want me to . . . ?”

She doesn’t think even she—experienced physician and for the most part a woman unembarrassed about bodies and their needs and functions—can make herself spell it out in any more detail. But James, clever, clever James, has understood and is already easing her legs further apart, making room for Robbie. Laura gasps out a yes, and the next thing she knows, Robbie is easing her back against the headboard, and swinging himself round to the bottom of the bed. He squeezes himself in between her legs, next to James. 

_Oh God, oh God. Both of them._

They’re squashed together between her thighs; James still lying on his front, face a few inches from her vulva, gazing at her in apparent wonder; Robbie kneeling beside him, with a similarly awe-struck expression. She can barely drag a breath in, her heart’s beating so wildly in her chest.

James clears his throat—she’s obviously not the only one having trouble getting words out. “I think you should try sliding a finger into Laura and see what feels good for her, then I’ll go back to . . . doing what I was doing.” As she watches, James flashes Robbie a little smile that seems to acknowledge the outrageous situation they find themselves in; that seems to say: _never thought I’d be saying that to you._ And Robbie raises an eyebrow and smiles his silent reply: _Well, me neither lad; me neither._

Robbie turns his attention back to Laura: “Laura? Is that what you want?”

“ _Please!_ ” Robbie flashes her a cheeky smile, apparently enjoying the desperate state she’s in. _Git!_

He runs a finger in slow, lazy circles over her mound and then slides it gently between her lips. He sighs. “God, you’re lovely.” 

She’s very wet from James’ ministrations, and Robbie’s finger slides smoothly between the delicate folds of skin. She watches him and James, who in turn are both watching—mesmerised—as he pushes the finger fully into her. Oh, that is _good_. She’s always liked Robbie’s big, capable hands. She likes them even more, now.

“How’s that, Laura?” 

“ _Yes_. Good . . . more.”

“More? Another finger?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

He pulls out and pushes straight back in with two fingers, and oh fucking hell, that is . . . she starts babbling:

“Yes . . . Robbie. _Yes. Don’t stop!_ ”

He keeps his fingers stiff, and pushes them fully into her and back out, again and again, and she rocks against his hand. _Yes._ And then James bows his head to her again and she feels his tongue lap around the entrance to her vagina, around Robbie’s fingers as they move in and out of her. _God_ , that is so, so erotic; his tongue sliding in and around Robbie’s fingers as they press into her. _Yes!_ She thinks her brain is going to short-circuit. Robbie hisses out a _Christ_ , but doesn’t falter from the perfect, insistent rhythm he’s got going. Then James shifts his attention back to her clitoris, and finally, _yes_ , that’s it—she has to close her eyes and concentrate on the feelings; James flicking his tongue back and forth again and again over the little bundle of nerve endings he’s found that makes her twitch and moan every time he goes near it; and Robbie, filling her over and over with his big, strong fingers. 

She can feel the orgasm building, feel it rolling towards her like a tidal wave; irresistible; thrillingly inevitable now. She opens her eyes for a moment. James is still lying flat, his face buried between her legs. Robbie is still kneeling, bent over her. One of his hands is occupied with her, but the other; the other is at the back of James’ head, stroking his short, fur-like hair. And it’s this gentle, intimate action, this soothing and encouraging touch of Robbie’s while James works so diligently to give her pleasure, that finally rushes her, hurls her over the edge. She cries out and they don’t stop, stroking and licking her through what feels like endless seconds of falling and pulsing. _Yes; yes; yes._

* * *

The next thing she’s really aware of is the two of them collapsing back down on either side of her—her pair of big, warm bookends.

Her friends.

Her colleagues.

Her rescuers.

Her lovers.

Her cookers of meals; her givers of orgasms. 

Her supporters. Her protectors. 

Her bookends. 

They’ve brought her such happiness, such unexpected joy. Life has stolen a great deal from Robbie and James over the years; at times they’ve been left with such meagre rations of hope and comfort. Yet they’ve given and given to her, pouring themselves out for her, without hesitation. It only seems fair to give back to them, what she can. She wants to give them pleasure, of course—to touch them and suck them and have them inside her. Honestly, what sensible woman wouldn’t?! But more than that, beyond that, there’s something else she hopes she can give them. 

She wants to be a catalyst. She wants to be the conduit through which they can finally, fully reach each other. 

She knows they love each other—it couldn’t be more obvious. She knows that neither of them is ever fully comfortable unless the other one is close-by, however much they might complain and bicker. She’s grown used to seeing them squashed up against each other, using half the available space on every pub bench or sofa. Robbie and James need each other physically as much as emotionally; she’s completely convinced of it. And it’s madness that they will, in all likelihood, just go on, year after year, not doing anything about it; not even seeing that there’s something that needs doing. 

So she’s going to see if there’s something _she_ can do about it . . . just as soon as she’s able to achieve anything other than lying flat on her back, panting and grinning and telling herself she’s the jammiest woman alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be away working for the next ten days, so I probably won't be able to post the next chapter until I'm back. 
> 
> I think Laura needs a bit of time to catch her breath, anyway ;-)


	6. Call of the wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the little delay in getting this chapter posted! I've been travelling and working and being jet lagged. 
> 
> Anyway, everyone's had a bit of time to get their breath back, which is handy . . .
> 
> In other news, this chapter is rather explicit.

Robbie lies down next to Laura, propping himself up on one elbow, and watches as James eases out his neck and jaw a little. James has a bit of a smug smile, and who can blame him? He looks hot and sweaty, and as Robbie watches, he peels his t-shirt off and flops down on the far side of Laura. It’s oddly unsettling, seeing James take his top off like that, barely three foot away from him. Robbie feels the pull to keep looking, to take in James’ bare chest, the fine bones of his clavicle, the hint of ribs and muscle. Feeling almost shy, he turns his attention back to Laura and starts stroking soothing circles over her belly, focussing on how beautifully soft and warm she feels. It’s so long since he touched someone properly; felt the heat of someone’s skin beneath his fingers; felt them breathe and tremble. He had to survived so long without this. 

_God_ , he was lonely. 

There was always a lot of touch in his relationship with Val. Not just sex, though that had been lovely—something they’d both worked hard to keep going through the years of small kids and long work hours. But more than the sex, they’d cuddled and kissed and had woven the safety net that was their relationship, from the thousands of little pats and hugs between them. The pain of being surrounded by people all day at work, month in, month out, and having no one to go home to and hold, had been terrible to bear at times. How did he ever manage to survive? Robbie’s not given to a lot of self-examination, but even he’s worked out that he’s always sat closer to James than is strictly necessary, and that he does rather more shoulder squeezing and back patting than might be expected between colleagues. Thank God, awkward sod though he is, James has never seemed to mind; has even seemed to encourage it, in his own, anything but obvious, way.

So, these recent weeks of sharing his bed with Laura and James have been incredible. He’s felt very emotional, actually. Some of it’s down to what happened to Laura, of course; what _almost_ happened to her. But he knows that’s nowhere near the whole story. It feels like he’s waking up again; coming alive. Like he’s been sleepwalking for years and all it’s taken is a few weeks of having his arm wrapped securely round Laura and James through the night, to finally bring him back to life. If he gets to share his bed with them for the rest of his life, that would make him happier than he ever thought was going to be possible again.

Laura’s eyes are closed and she’s smiling—what a beautiful picture she makes. Actually, if he’s honest with himself, they both do—Laura _and_ James. Her, naked, and radiating the kind of boneless contentment that only really ever comes from a good orgasm (and how pleased with himself does he feel, having played a part in producing that orgasm?!) And James; in just his pyjama bottoms, long and lean and beautifully pale in the soft morning light. He could look at them like this for hours. 

As he’s stroking Laura, she rests a hand on top of his, lacing her small fingers between his bigger ones. He thinks she’s going to guide his hand down; that she wants him to touch her again, make her come again—which would be just fine by him. But as he watches their entwined hands, she slides them across her belly—and onto James. _Oh_. She releases his hand and pats it, leaving it resting just above James’ waist. James, like Laura, has his eyes closed, but it’s clear from the way his breath stills for a moment, that he’s realised the large, heavy paw of a hand now lying flat against his abdomen, is Robbie’s.

Robbie’s never touched a man, not like this. But James’ skin feels hot under his fingers, and even as Robbie holds his hand still, with James barely breathing beneath it, Robbie can see through the thin cotton of his pyjama bottoms that James’ cock is responding. He’s not erect—nowhere near—but apparently just the weight of Robbie’s hand on him is enough to cause it to grow a little. _Christ_. Without thinking, Robbie runs a finger in a slow circle round James’ belly button, and James moans quietly, his belly rising as he drags in a shaky breath. And _oh_ , James’ cock twitches and fills a little more. Robbie watches the outline of it through the thin fabric, frustrated that he can’t quite see properly, how it’s responding to his touch.

James, his eyes tightly shut, wriggles up the bed a little, so that his pyjamas ride down very low on his hips. Really, they’re just being held up now by his growing erection. It’s disconcerting how strong an urge Robbie has to lift the waistband up and release James’ cock. Instead, he places the palm of his hand flat, just below James’ belly button, and presses gently. James sighs and pushes up against Robbie’s hand. Robbie can feel the fine trail of hairs running down the centre of James’ belly. His fingertips, apparently requiring no direction from him at all, start tracing slow tracks up and down the blond hairs, up and down between James belly button and the top of his pyjama bottoms.

It’s a bit awkward, having to lean over Laura to reach James, but climbing over her to be next to James feels momentous, somehow, and Robbie just can’t seem to get himself to move. But Laura, apparently, isn’t experiencing any such hesitation, because she wriggles down the bed and out from between them. She climbs over James’ legs and stretches out on the other side of him. James opens his eyes a fraction, to see what she’s doing. He doesn’t look towards Robbie at all, but he eases into the centre of the bed, so that Laura has more room; so that he’s closer to Robbie.

Robbie starts slowly stroking up and down James’ belly again, barely brushing his fingertips across James’ warm skin. James gasps and his eyes close. With each sweep of Robbie’s fingertips, James hardens and swells, until his erection is clearly outlined through the old, worn cotton of the pyjamas. Robbie glances across at Laura. He catches her gazing spellbound at his hand, as it moves across James’ bare skin, an inch away from his erection. She grins at Robbie, obviously very pleased with how her little intervention is working out. Then she nods towards where his hand has come to rest, and mouths _you're a tease_ at him. _Bloody cheek!_ That’s not fair. He’s not trying to tease James, he’s just never . . . well, actually, she’s got a point. James is straining, trying to close the gap between his cock and Robbie’s hand. He’s frowning in concentration and his body’s tensing up.

Robbie pulls a face at Laura to show his disapproval of how smug she’s looking, but it just makes her grin even more. Well, wait till she sees what’s coming next: she’s going to be bloody insufferable. He slides a couple of fingers under the waistband of James’ pyjamas and carefully lifts it up over James’ cock. James raises his hips and Robbie tugs the pyjamas down his thighs. Then, without stopping to think about it, he wraps his hand round James’ shaft and squeezes, and James flings his head back, baring his long, pale throat, and all but bellows as Robbie starts stroking him. _Jesus! Amazing!_ Robbie carefully strokes the full length a few times, and then concentrates on the head, easing the foreskin back and forth over it, trying to work out how James likes to be touched. 

The swollen head seems to be really sensitive, going on the stream of whispered profanities coming from James, now Robbie’s really focusing his attention there. He’s never heard James swear so much. Mind you, to be fair, he’s never given him a hand job before. He’ll be doing it again, though, if he gets any say in the matter. To make James feel this good, to watch him writhing and panting, delirious with pleasure—Robbie’s pretty sure this is going to prove addictive. 

He spits into his hand, so that the fat head of James’ cock slides more smoothly back and forth through his fist, and with that, James grips the sheets with both hands and groans loudly: “Oh, fuck! Please! Jesus, I . . . Please!” 

_God_ , he’s so responsive; so beautiful. The noises he’s making—the noises Robbie’s dragging out of him, one firm stroke after another—it’s utterly electrifying. Suddenly, though, James opens his eyes, looking troubled, and he reaches for Laura. She flashes Robbie a puzzled look, and slides over, into James’ arms. With a jolt of pain Robbie realises that James would probably much rather it were Laura touching him. He stops stroking and starts to move out of their way, but James locks eyes with him over Laura’s head and lets out a strangled, “No! Don’t stop! Please! I want you . . .” 

_Oh, thank God._ Robbie immediately starts stroking him again, the relief radiating out from his chest; his heart. “It’s OK. You’ve got me, lad. I’m not going anywhere.”

But if it’s not that, what’s bothering him? Robbie picks up the pace with his stroking, and with that, James drags Laura on top of him, so that the top half of her body is covering his face, so that his face is buried beneath her breasts . . . so that as Robbie’s hand massages the swollen head of James’ cock, again and again, James cries out repeatedly, but his cries are muffled by Laura’s breasts. _Oh._ He was worried about making too much noise! _Daft bugger!_ Well, if you’re worried about disturbing the neighbours, using Laura’s breasts as sound insulation has got to be the most enjoyable way imaginable of keeping the noise down! _Canny lad!_

Laura clearly understands what James wants, because she pushes herself tightly against him, pressing her breasts into his face. _Lucky sod!_ It’s a miracle he can breathe at all. Not a bad way to go though, if you’re going to suffocate. It’s obvious from the firm grip James is keeping on Laura, that he’s got her just where he wants her. Good. _Let’s test how effective that soundproofing really is then . . ._

As Robbie brings James closer and closer to the edge, from where he’s kneeling, he can’t see much of James, now Laura’s sprawled over him. But what he can hear— _God!_ With every stroke, there’s a muffled sound from James, which, without Laura being in place, would be nothing less than a shout; a roar, even. It turns out that James—his reticent, over-controlled sergeant—is so turned on and just so fucking responsive, he’s having to use Laura to stop himself being heard by half the street. And it’s Robbie who’s making him feel like that, who’s giving him such pleasure . . . who right now can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for James, to make him feel this good again and again.

James comes with such force, he practically bucks Laura off him. He coats Robbie’s hand, and his own belly—and Laura’s bottom—which makes her yelp with surprise. Serves her right! She’s giggling as she rolls off James, but then she turns to Robbie and smiles the kindest, most loving smile, and raises an eyebrow in question. _Did I do the right thing? Are you OK with all this? Have you finally worked out that you love him?_ All Robbie can do is gaze back at her, and nod. _I love both of you._

James’ face is flushed and sweaty, and he’s grinning so much, it’s like his whole body is happy. It’s certainly the happiest Robbie’s ever seen him. He squeezes James’ hip. “You’re all right?”

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“For God’s sake, man. Don’t start calling me sir, now. Not when we’ve just . . .”

James smirks.

 _Git._ “Couldn’t work out how you were still breathing, under there.” He nods towards Laura, who’s currently kneeling to one side of them, using a corner of the duvet to wipe the stickiness off her bottom. “Thought you’d developed gills.”

Even though James is already very pink-faced, Robbie could swear he’s blushing. James turns to Laura with a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that.”

She looks up from what she’s doing, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just to clarify; is the apology for my poor, crushed breasts, or my semen-coated posterior?”

James’ eyes widen, comically; he’d clearly had no idea just how far his _outpourings_ had travelled; no idea what Laura had been up to with the duvet. “Shit! Laura! Oh, God.” He starts to turn away, but Laura leans over and slaps him lightly on the leg. 

“James, you dolt! Look at me. Do I look like I mind?!” And it’s true; she appears utterly at ease; very happy with her lot. 

James looks at her for a long second, and then shakes his head. He sighs, deeply. “No. You just look . . . beautiful, actually.” A dopey grin starts to form on his face. “God, Laura. You really don’t mind? I just grabbed you and used you to . . . it’s just that it felt _so_ good,”—and he looks across to Robbie, with an expression that looks a lot like adoration. A lot like love. It makes Robbie dizzy and breathless. James carries on, as if he hasn’t just shown Robbie his heart. “I just had to make some noise; had to shout a bit. Call of the wild!” 

But then James blinks; suddenly looks serious. He gazes intently at Robbie. “You understand?” 

Robbie knows he’s being asked any number of questions. Luckily, the answer to all of them is the same. “Yes, James.”


	7. And his banner over me was love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. If it's any consolation, whatever frustration you might have felt at having to wait, poor Robbie, in a tumescent state for months, has surely suffered more?!
> 
> Anyway, other than for a brief epilogue set a couple of months later which I hope to post in the next couple of weeks, this fic is now complete.
> 
> As has been the case with the last few chapters, this one is exceedingly explicit.

Robbie doesn’t believe in God or karma or any of that nonsense. He believes in a roll of the cosmic dice and then you get what you get. And sometimes what you get is so terrible, so soul-crushingly unfair, that you wished you did believe in God just to get the bitter satisfaction of turning your back on him and denying him the chance to console you. But if you’re very lucky, there are also moments, beautiful, perfect moments, when the universe offers you something so good you can almost believe in a kind of grace. You remember you believe in people; you remember you believe in the possibility of love and happiness.

Robbie’s lying on his back in the middle of the bed; James and Laura are lying either side of him with their heads resting on his chest. He has his arms round them, holding them tight against him. His erection has subsided, which is fine. It’s one of the few benefits of being the age he is—he feels less urgency about all that stuff. It would have been nice to have an orgasm, but he wouldn’t swap that for this, not for all the tea in China.

Laura leans forward and softly kisses James on the mouth. Then she props herself up on one elbow and kisses Robbie too, stroking her fingertips over the stubble on his chin. Between him and James, poor Laura’s going to have spectacular beard rash—in all kinds of interesting places. He’s got to say though, she’s not looking at all _poor Laura_ right now, as she smiles down at him. 

She gently pats his cheek. “So, I’ve had an orgasm—thank you, gentlemen—and James has had one, rather spectacularly, I would say. But you, Robbie, you have not—yet.”

“No, well, that doesn’t—” 

She doesn’t let him finish. “Is that an accurate summary of events, James?”

“Exemplary, Laura.” They grin at each other, clearly back in double act mode again. 

“Think we ought to do something about that, James?”

James also props himself up and looks pointedly at Robbie’s cock, which is soft, but still obvious through the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms. James slowly sweeps his gaze up Robbie’s body till he makes eye contact with him and then smiles the smile of a man who’s plotting the downfall of a nation. “Oh, I think so. Definitely.” 

Robbie’s stomach flips. Arousal? Nerves? Probably a bit of both.

They get him to sit up while they peel off his t-shirt, then they ease him back down so he’s lying in James’ arms. James nuzzles his hair and whispers, “I’d like to kiss you but I’m assuming you’ve never been kissed by a man before. You might not want me to—which is fine—I just want to do whatever’s good for you.”

Hah! “Well, I have kissed a bloke—a couple of times, actually.” 

James stares at him, clearly surprised—which is extremely gratifying. Laura, being Laura, is all smirks. “Go, Robbie!”

“Give over! I don’t know where you get the idea that I haven’t done anything . . . different.”

She’s still grinning at him. “Perhaps from your use of the word ‘different’? Really, Robbie!”

He shoots her an exasperated look. “What?! Saying isn’t doing. I’m a doer, not a talker.”

“A lover not a fighter.” James murmurs.

Robbie splutters out a laugh. “Aye, that too. Look, it was a very long time ago; before Val; before Adam was a lad. If my memory serves me right though, it was pretty good, so . . .” 

Apparently James doesn’t need any more encouragement. He cradles the side of Robbie’s face in his hand and leans in to kiss him. His lips are warm and soft and he kisses Robbie over and over until Robbie’s light-headed and breathless; until he can feel the kisses in his belly, in his groin.

And as James kisses him, Laura keeps up a running commentary. “God, you two. You look perfect together; I knew you would.” She sounds transfixed. 

James runs the tip of his tongue over Robbie’s lips, between his lips, pushes it deeper into his mouth, more and more insistent. He nudges Robbie’s thighs apart with his knee and half lies on top of him. James feels big and solid and strong, and the weight of him pressing down, pinning Robbie to the bed, has Robbie’s heart pounding in his chest and his breath coming in short, laboured drags.

He feels Laura shift on the bed and he realises she’s trying to get a better view of them. _Christ Almighty._ Just the idea of what it must look like, James all over him like this! When she speaks again she sounds likes she’s struggling to get her breath too. “I’ve thought about the two of you together like this, so many times. Kissing each other, touching each other.” She strokes his hip. “God, Robbie, you’re getting really hard again. Look at that—James just has to kiss you and you get this fantastic erection.” She suddenly trails her fingers right alongside his prick and he groans into James’ mouth. He’s sure she’s going to start stroking him, and he is so bloody ready for it. He’s been hard off and on for best part of a couple of hours and it’s almost painful now. James mouths a trail of open kisses along Robbie’s jaw and down the side of his neck, while Laura strokes Robbie’s belly and the top of his thighs, but she carefully, frustratingly, avoids his erection, which is now throbbing with each heartbeat. Then finally, finally, her knuckles graze his erection through his pyjamas, and he hisses: “Laura. Come on!”

But Laura just trails her fingertips up and down his erection, too lightly; she’s driving him mad. And she keeps talking: “I’ve thought about you stroking each other; your big hands round each other’s cocks.” Good God, the mouth on her! “I’ve thought about you sucking each other.” She says it so precisely. He groans as he pictures what she’s describing and he reaches for his cock, but James, who must be watching them, grabs his hand; won’t let him. _Fucking hell._

Laura carries on. “I’ve thought about you sitting in a chair, with James on his knees between your legs, his head bent over your cock, swallowing you down.” _God. God._ James kisses Robbie’s collar bone and purrs, “I’ve thought about that, too—so want to do it, so want to suck you” and then he shifts and gently sucks one of Robbie’s nipples into his mouth. _Jesus, God._ James’ mouth is soft and wet and Robbie’s attention is riveted as James pulls his nipple into his mouth again and again and flicks his tongue back and forth over it. 

Laura breathes in audibly—she’s obviously still watching closely, watching James’ mouth on Robbie. But after a few seconds she tugs Robbie’s attention back to her by squeezing his cock. “I’ve thought about you inside each other, Robbie. I’ve made myself come imagining you having anal sex; imagining you easing yourself into James, inch by inch, pushing into him, emptying yourself into him.” _Oh Jesus, fucking Christ._ Robbie needs to come; he really needs to come. His pulse is pounding in his head, in his cock.

And then finally, finally, they take pity on him. Laura undoes his pyjama bottoms and pulls them down, releasing his poor, throbbing cock. Then her mouth, her tongue, are trailing across his belly. Oh, fuck, yes . . . but she stops. 

“Laura!” He’s practically shouting with frustration. 

She pats him reassuringly and chuckles: “You’re rather big, Robbie. All those years I called you a cocky sod, I didn't know the half of it! James, I think I need you down here. This might call for team work.”

James gives the nipple a final suck and releases it, and then he winks at Robbie—actually _winks_ at him, for God’s sake. “I think my mouth might be needed elsewhere.” He joins Laura and they kneel, either side of Robbie’s erection, and the bastards start a leisurely conversation about who’s going to suck his cock and who’s going to take on his balls; weighing up the pros and cons as if they’re debating the merits of shepherd’s pie or pork chops for dinner. _Jesus fucking Christ._ Then James plays his ace. “The thing is, Laura, and perhaps I should have mentioned this earlier, but I don’t actually have a gag reflex, so . . .” _Fucking, fucking hell._ They are actually going to be the death of him. 

Well, that appears to settle it. They pull his pyjamas fully off him and then Robbie watches, dazed, as Laura takes hold of his shaft, wrapping her hand firmly round the base, and holds him in place while James gently sucks the swollen head into his mouth. _“James!” Oh God. That’s_ . . . James starts doing something with his tongue, moving it around, soft and wet, and it’s incredible. Robbie's eyes shut tight and he starts making embarrassingly desperate noises.

James slowly lowers himself, taking Robbie’s cock further and further into his mouth, and all the time he’s softly sucking. It’s perfect, so perfect. Laura moves her hand away to make room for James to take more of him and Robbie feels James swallow him somehow at the back of his throat and then, God, he’s completely inside James. Then Laura eases Robbie’s legs apart and settles between them. He feels her breath tickling his balls and then she starts using her tongue to explore them, which is — fuck; she oh-so-gently lifts his balls up a little and slides her tongue underneath and he can’t stop himself bucking up into James, who moans and sucks harder. Laura laps her tongue underneath his balls again and again and it’s hypnotic and filthy and Robbie’s going to empty himself into James’ beautiful mouth in about ten seconds flat if they carry on like this. 

“James, fuck, I’m so close . . . I’m going to—”

James’ response is to feel around till he finds Robbie’s hand and then he holds it tightly in his while he sucks and sucks and slides up and down on Robbie’s cock, and in the end, all Robbie can do is just surrender himself to the orgasm that surges up from the soles of his feet, up into his groin, his belly—electric shocks and blood roaring in his ears, and muscles tightening so hard it hurts; and then endless release, everything flooding into his prick and out, emptying, filling James’ mouth; contraction after contraction—God . . . God . . . God: it’s incredible. They hold him steady so he doesn’t buck them off, and they suck and lick him till he can’t take any more.

When he’s finally able to open his eyes again, Laura and James are kneeling over him, quietly, tenderly kissing. He watches, heart-swollen with love—Laura stretching up to reach James, her arms round his neck, and James, his arm round her waist, holding her steady. Robbie has not an ounce of desire left in him—he feels utterly spent. But he can imagine, on another weekend morning like this, when they have nowhere they have to be and all the time in the world, he can imagine the pleasure that could come from watching them, really watching them, like Laura watched him and James. Watching from inches away as James guides himself into her; watching as Laura orgasms around James’ erection. _God,_ the possibilities. 

They end the kiss and turn towards him, smiling. He pats the bed either side of him, and they both flop down, back where they were before, before they, well, before they wore him out. James props himself up on his elbow.

“And his fruit was sweet to my taste.  
He brought me to the banqueting house,  
And his banner over me was love.”

Of course there’d be a quote. Though Robbie has to admit, it’s a pretty nice quote. “Shakespeare?”

James eyes twinkle. “The Bible.” 

Robbie feels mildly scandalized. “You’re quoting the Bible at a time like this?” He waves his hand round at the mess of sheets and the pyjamas scattered around the bedroom; at their naked bodies.

James looks amused. After a moment’s thought he leans down and kisses Robbie in the centre of his chest and then leans right over him and kisses Laura between her breasts. “Try this instead:

For I lack the gift,  
Possess almost no  
Sense of direction.  
And yet I owe  
A debt to this lack,  
A debt so vast  
No reparation  
Can ever be made,  
For it led me away  
From the road I sought  
Which would carry me to—  
I mistakenly thought—  
My true destination:  
It made me stray  
To this lucky path  
That ran like a fuse  
And brought me to you  
And love’s bright, soundless  
Detonation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James' first quote is from the Song of Solomon. 
> 
> His other, longer quote, is from the poem No Sense of Direction by Vernon Scannell


	8. Epilogue: His Soul Stands Ajar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, lovely readers. I've finally got to the end of this epic journey. Well, it's felt epic to me - the longest fic I've written, and at times I was so stuck, I thought I'd never get moving with it again. 
> 
> So, thank you for all of your encouraging comments. The tags promised: hurt/comfort; a lot of comfort - I hope you feel that's what you got :-)

**Three months later**

James is having a good day. They wrapped up their case this morning, in a joint interview almost balletic in its grace and precision. Robbie started the interview just as a chat, nothing difficult. He was unaggressive, warm even, to start with, just keeping the conversation going. Every now and then he’d take a sip of water from the bottle in front of him and James would take over, asking the same questions but from a different angle, feeling for the cracks in the mortar. Then Lewis would pick things up again, a little pushier, a little firmer. They were utterly in the zone, the perfect team, and inevitably, twenty minutes in, the miserable husband of the murdered woman just crumbled before them and the confession poured out of him. 

It didn’t hurt that Innocent had watched the whole thing from the gallery. Their performance had earned them a grumbled _I suppose that goes some way to making up for my decimated overtime budget_ , but she’d smiled and used their first names, so all in all, they were pretty pleased with themselves. They were even more pleased mid-afternoon when Innocent poked her head round the office door and told them to finish up for the weekend.

Which is why James finds himself at the fish counter in Waitrose at four o’clock on a Friday afternoon, planning seafood risotto and trying to decide whether to get a bottle of Poiully Fumé to go with it, rather than their usual Sauvignon Blanc. It’s fourteen quid a bottle—but then they have got something to celebrate.

* * *

Laura never really moved back to her house after the Corwin debacle. Afterwards, the place changed. Maybe they’re all haunted by that night when they came so close to losing everything, and being in the house makes it impossible to push those memories away. James hates it when Laura has to go back there to pick up the post or fetch some bit of clothing or a kitchen utensil she can’t do without. He finds it hard to bear that she has to be there, seeing the same kitchen cupboards, the same curtains—everything she’d seen that night as she’d tried in vain to get away from the Corwins. It’s irrational, he knows, but he feels the house let her down. Even with its solid walls and locks and alarm system, it had failed to protect her. He does recognise that a psychologist would have a field day. In any case, he and Robbie won't let Laura go there on her own any more, and she hasn’t made a fuss about that—which is pretty telling.

Despite all this, and despite how quickly and happily she’d clearly embraced their new domestic arrangements, early on Laura had made noises about needing her own space. Robbie had said nothing but had looked heartbroken. Luckily, James has managed to come up with a solution: converting Robbie’s spare bedroom into a study for her; a cosy, book-lined retreat for her to escape to when she’s had enough of the rugby on the telly, or when she just needs to be on her own for a while. She’s lived by herself for years, and however much she loves the two of them—and he knows she does love them—James can understand that she finds them a bit much sometimes. Jesus, he finds him and Robbie a bit much sometimes. So Laura takes herself off to her study and reads or phones a friend or just sits quietly, enjoying the peace.

Of course, he still worries about her. A few weeks ago, he’d seen a cherry-red woollen blanket in a shop in the covered market and he’d bought it for her. She keeps it in her study, and he hopes she wraps it round her shoulders while she’s sitting curled up in the armchair up there. He hopes it helps when she gets ambushed by her memories. Laura hardly ever talks about the night the Corwins took her, and James wonders if her study is where she revisits those horrors. He chose the blanket for its warmth and softness and cheeriness. He hopes it helps.

About a month after they’d fallen into living together, James had made some noises of his own—about moving back to his flat. In fact, he’d made a little pre-prepared speech one Saturday afternoon, about how generous Robbie had been with his home but that he didn’t want to outstay his welcome. He’d made this speech even though he felt safe and wanted. Even though he had a sense of home, of belonging, for the first time in his life. Even though he was gloriously, disorientatingly happy a lot of the time, in a way he hadn’t even known was possible. Even so, his instinct had been to bow out, to make it easy for them to wave him off, and, not forget about him, but to reconfigure themselves as a pair, with James becoming a satellite, forever in lonely orbit around their relationship.

They had both been absolutely furious. Sad too; horrified that he could have imagined he wasn’t an essential, beloved part of the whole. Robbie in particular had seemed really shaken by the whole episode, as if he just couldn’t make sense of it; which James supposes is true. James is genuinely sorry he upset them both, he really is. But the image in his mind of Robbie pacing up and down the lounge, raging about what a bloody idiot James must be if he thought there could be a life worth anything without him in the middle of it; raging that if Robbie could, he’d marry them both tomorrow and put an end to this nonsense; well, that image will warm James till the end of his days. He still burns with guilty pleasure every time he thinks about it.

* * *

So he was persuaded to stay, thank God. But Laura’s not the only one who needs a place to retreat to occasionally; she’s not the only one who longs for a quiet room full of books. Unfortunately, Robbie has no more spare rooms, for James to have a study too—but they do have a plan for that.

By the time James gets home from the supermarket, Robbie and Laura are already there, though it looks like Laura’s only just beaten James to it. They’re in the kitchen and Laura’s sitting at the table, easing her work shoes off. Robbie’s pouring her a mug of tea.

“So, the contact’s signed then, Pet?” Robbie passes her the tea; he looks delighted.

“Yes, I need to be out of the house by the 30th, and the tenants move in on the 1st—one-year tenancy with the possibility of extending if both parties wish.”

James and Robbie had both thought she’d want to sell the place, but in the end Laura had decided that financially it made better sense to have it as an investment, to provide some extra income in their old age. James has said nothing about this decision—it’s her choice, of course—but he’s also been making plans for their old age; working out how he can best support Robbie and Laura as they retire and age. He hasn't mentioned any of this to them yet, of course—he’s not that stupid.

Robbie raises his mug of tea to drink to the occasion. “So we can start looking? Now both of you are sorted out?” It’s been obvious he’s been itching to get the three of them settled, living together, though he’s done his best to be patient. It’s taken quite a while for James to find someone suitable to take over the tenancy on his flat; and Laura—quite rightly—has taken her time deciding what to do with her home that’s no longer a home.

She pats Robbie’s hand. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, we can start looking. James, what about you? Do you need another couple of months?”

“What!? James?! Why would—” 

Robbie sounds appalled and it’s tempting to wind him up a bit, but it’s too happy a day for a that. James takes pity on him. “My soul stands ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”

Robbie rolls his eyes. “Glad to hear it.” He reaches over to the papers on the sideboard and pulls something out of the pile. “Because I happened to see this yesterday.” It’s the details of a house for sale.

“Robbie! We said—” Laura does not look impressed.

“I know, Pet. I just happened to walk past the estate agents and it was in the window. Just have a look.”

“Do you believe him, James?”

“I’ve seen people standing over a corpse with a bloody knife in their hand, looking less guilty than that.” 

Robbie grins and retreats to add some more hot water to the pot. The second he moves, James grabs the house details and shifts round to sit next to Laura. What Robbie’s found is a solid-looking, Victorian, red-brick villa; detached, five bedrooms, with a workshop at the end of a long, well-established garden. The price makes James wince, but as he’s had to keep reminding himself each time they’ve discussed their future living plans, with three professional salaries, they can easily afford a house like this. Well, perhaps not easily, exactly, but it’s not going to be a problem. Perhaps polyamory is the best solution to Oxford’s astronomical property prices? He snorts at the thought, and Laura frowns.

“Don’t you like it?”

“No, I do. It’s lovely.”

“Good.” They read on in silence and then Laura yelps with glee. “Robbie! The downstairs loo’s got a stained glass window!”

Robbie comes over to stand behind them. “I thought that might tickle you.” He sounds pretty smug; as well he might—he’s found them a gem. He squeezes James’ shoulder. “Do you really like it? I think it’s got everything we need. You and Laura get a study each, and there’s room for Lyn and the family to come and stay. Lots of space for everyone.” 

James lays his hand on top of Robbie’s. “I think it’s perfect. But we’ll need to move fast. A place like this won’t be on the market for long, and we don’t want some insufferable trust fund type getting their hands on it.”

“Perish the thought.”

While he and Robbie start exchanging horror stories about the various types of bastard that might get their grubby little hands on their house—and yes, it really does feel like it could be their house—Laura phones the estate agent. She finds out no one has put an offer on the place yet, and she manages to snag them first viewing of the day tomorrow. Now they really do have something to drink to. 

It’s not like everything’s perfect. James knows more than anyone that that’s never a possibility in life. He still feels weighed down with guilt about what happened to Laura, and he knows it doesn’t help, and he knows it pisses her off, but what he doesn’t know is how to switch it off. He has no idea what people do with crappy feelings like this, beyond his old, familiar options—drowning himself in work or drink—neither of which is acceptable now he’s with Laura and Robbie. 

James has realised that Laura’s really the only one of them who knows what to do with feelings. Robbie’s good with feelings in so much as he’s far less troubled than James by feelings of the self-attacking variety, and also, Robbie can actually show that he’s feeling things, at least some of the time. But he can’t talk about emotions to save his life, and when things are difficult emotionally, sometimes it seems like he’s got no more clue what to do than James has. 

So thank God they’ve got Laura; their brave, clever Laura, who two weeks ago, had sat him and Robbie down at the end of a particularly rough couple of days, and had proposed an absolutely outrageous means of tackling James’ self-destructive, suffocating guilt. Inspired by her (accurate) assumption that the idea of paying penance would appeal to his miserable Catholic soul, she’d proposed that James should do exactly that—pay penance for having doubted her during the Corwin case, and for his subsequent self-condemnation. She’d certainly got his attention, talking like that, which is just as well, because if he hadn’t have been listening very carefully, he might not have believed his own ears when he heard her suggest a payment of the sum of five hundred orgasms, delivered via oral stimulation, to atone for his actions. She’d made it clear that these orgasms should be seen as separate and in addition to whatever the three of them get up to in the rest of their sex life, and she’d obviously thought it all through very carefully, because she’d gone through several clauses and stipulations, while he and Robbie had sat next to each other on the sofa, gawping at her, in stunned silence.

Firstly, Laura had made it clear that if he agreed to the arrangement, she wouldn’t make it easy for him; that she’d take his acts of penance seriously. She’d indicated that although giving her orgasms might sound like a pleasant way for him to pass the time, and she hoped on many occasions he would enjoy paying his penance in this way, he should expect to work hard for it. He should expect her to demand to come again and again, even when his jaw and tongue are aching; even when he’s weary from a case and longing for sleep. Robbie had frowned, but James had recognised the care behind the tough words. At the end of a bad day, exhausted by a shitty case is exactly when he’s most likely to be overwhelmed by guilt and shame. Much better to pour the last dregs of his energy into making Laura feel good, than into making himself feel worse.

Also, and James’ face had burned and he’d had to turn away as she spelt this out, if he agreed to this arrangement, she’d expect him to come to her when he’s feeling guilty and to offer her orgasms—he would no longer be allowed to isolate himself and burrow deeper and deeper into his misery. As soon as work allowed, he’d be expected to get himself between her legs and direct his attention to her pleasure for as long as it might take for the guilt to fade, or until she couldn’t take any more.

Finally, she’d turned to Robbie and said that none of this could happen without his agreement. She’d said that she wanted Robbie to witness each orgasm, and to offer any support and encouragement her and James might need to see this through. And anytime he saw James starting to sink beneath the weight of his more difficult feelings, Robbie’s job would be to remind James of his obligation, his oath, for want of a better word, and to help him plan how they might best get through the rest of the day, before they could get home and begin to make things better; before Robbie could get James settled, safe, between Laura’s legs. 

How could James ever have been expected to resist this perfect, warped union of sex and Church, ritual and guilt? It’s scary, really, how well Laura understands him. He’d whispered a dazed _yes_ , with his cheeks blazing, while Robbie had stared at Laura, awe and amusement and something else, something more complicated, more sexual, written on his features. 

Robbie had turned to James and looked at him. Hadn’t said a word, but just looked.

James had met his gaze. “It’s perfect, Robbie.”

“Is it? You’re sure? It wouldn’t be everybody’s idea of a solution.”

James had shrugged and given Robbie a little self-deprecating smile, acknowledging the unlikeliness of a more typical solution suiting him. Robbie had looked back and forth between the two of them and then had shaken his head and laughed. “Looks like I’m orgasm monitor, then.”

* * *

So no, it’s not perfect . . . but it’s bloody close. They sleep together and laugh together, and gang up on each other when one of them’s being an idiot. They’ve learned a lot about what each other needs—when to back off and give space, and when to stubbornly insist on not leaving each other alone. And the sex is amazing; his life is erotically charged in a way he had never imagined might be possible—Jesus, he’s having sex dreams like a bloody teenager. Like the kind of teenager he never was. But the sex isn’t really the point. The point is that they have each other; they love each other. They’ve seen each other at their most miserable, ill-tempered, overbearing . . . and they love each other. 

And even James, who God knows in the past has found the workings of hearts—his own and other people’s—to be a painful mystery; even James knows this is true. There will be other crises; they will witness other horrors; other terrible things will happen or almost happen—it’s part of the work the three of them do; it’s part of being human, really. 

_And_ , he loves and is loved. It’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title paraphrases the title of a poem by Emily Dickinson. James also has a go with it, in the kitchen, over tea and house details.


End file.
